


Welcome to New York

by bluestoplights



Series: 1989 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: ? CAN WE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cursed!Killian, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Manhattan Renaissance, Season/Series 03, bestofbothworlds.mp3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestoplights/pseuds/bluestoplights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon-divergence from 3.11 // Emma moves to New York with her son to get a change of pace from Boston living. She wasn’t expecting to run into someone from her past, considering she doesn’t even know they’ve met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to New York

**Author's Note:**

> I! HAVE! NO! IDEA! WHAT! I’M! DOING! Do you ever get ideas at like, one in the morning that you know you shouldn’t listen to you and you know it’s your 1AM brain talking and you shouldn’t listen to it because your 1AM brain doesn’t understand simple concepts that “peace of mind” and “restfulness”. This is what happens when, instead of dismissing your late night thoughts as ??? I don’t know ??? something that you should not listen to - you’re like, okay, why not! A series based off of every song on 1989? That totally sounds like a blast!
> 
> I don’t get me at all, honestly. I even prefer Red. Logic???
> 
> What makes this even more fun is that - despite me repeating to myself how much I hate myself for doing this and why why why did I even think of it - this is literally the most I’ve ever written in one sitting. It’s double the amount I typically write in one sitting. It’s really possible that something (everything) is wrong with me. Punch me in the face. I swear I’ll get another chapter of Fallen Empires up soon. I PROMISE.
> 
> ANYWAY - onto more relevant notes on this fic. You seriously do not have to like Taylor Swift to read this. The words “Taylor Swift” never come out of any characters’ mouth. This isn’t a songfic, either, so if those aren’t your style (or Style - ha!) you’re still in the right place. I use the term inspired pretty liberally (I have every single song on 1989 connected to a oneshot plot and I honestly don’t know how that happened and I’m sorry) and it usually means that I take a line or general atmosphere of a song and just...think about it until I can miraculously twist it to be about CS to give me a nice mood or plot ideas. I’M EVEN DOING BLANK SPACE LIKE??? I promise it isn’t some Amy Dunne realness. I promise.
> 
> You probably didn’t want to scroll past this long ass author’s note. Whoops. I can't thank Amber (sentbyfools) and Ella (ellasaidlumos) enough for betaing this for me. Seriously, Henry would be about five different ages and my grammar would be awful if not for them. Trigger warnings for...I think just a passing mention to a canonical character death. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s it.

It’s the same old story every time.

Emma spends hours in the bathroom, agonizing over every little detail. She waxes her legs. She curls her hair into lazy waves and applies her false eyelashes with all the finesse of a experienced user. Emma picks a nice, tight dress - this time a leather number that comes up to just before her knees. Then, she goes over how she’s going to get the man she’s meeting for dinner to appear at his court date instead of out on dates.

When she first got into being a bailbondsperson, some of the cops she handed the perps to laughed at her. Not because of her felony conviction as a teenager, of course. Nope, they asked her what a _pretty little thing_ like her was doing carrying men in with handcuffs. All Emma did was give them a smug smirk in return. On future visits, once she’d exceeded the success rate of every man in her position, they’d stopped laughing.

It’s almost sad how many men respond more to random women online rather than the seizing of their belongings when Emma has to cover bail, but apparently the people who don’t show up in court aren’t the respectable sort anyway.

Emma hates making the stupid fake dating profiles, but being a _“pretty little thing”_ continues to work to her advantage, if the way the guy across from her (her date for the night) is paying attention to what’s down the front of her dress instead of what’s jingling in her purse. The handcuffs usually came in handy with the fleeing sort of criminals, along with the lock she puts on their car so they can’t make a grand getaway.

The strategy hasn’t failed her yet, no matter how much her feet in heels protest it.

“So, Steve,” she purrs to the man across the table, exaggeratedly tucking her hair behind her shoulder. “What is it that do you do?”

The guy practically salivates and she almost feels sorry for him. “As I listed on my profile, I’m a real estate agent. You, however, are a complete mystery…”

“Please,” Emma insists, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. “I’d like to hear more about you.”

Good ol’ Steve seems immensely satisfied by this answer, if the twitching of his Tom Selleck-inspired moustache is any indication. “I sold this massive loft by the Upper East Side earlier, it had this really incredible modern architecture…”

Emma has to zone out for a moment to save herself from listening to this guy drone on and on. Once he’s finished rambling, she already has a reply at the tip of her tongue.

“Wow, that’s so exciting…” Emma replies in a breathy whisper before ending her sentence in a complete deadpan, “Almost as exciting as laundering thousands of dollars from the agency you work for.”

Steve’s jaw drops and he starts looking around the restaurant suspiciously. “Who even are you?”

“The woman who posted the rest of the bail,” Emma answers as if he’s just asked her what the weather was like this evening.

Steve bolts, predictably.

Emma just sighs. She was hoping that she wouldn’t have to march across the street in these shoes (they were new and not really broken in yet, honestly), but if that’s what she has to do, that’s what she has to do.

She’s marching only feet behind her target when she - literally - runs into someone else on the sidewalk.

“Shit,” she blurts, nearly falling right on her ass before the man she’s just run into just barely catches her. She fists her hands into the plaid covering his arms in an effort to gain her balance.

“I’m so sorry,” an accented voice (Irish? British?) exclaims, helping her up with one hand. The other, she briefly notes, is a prosthetic. Emma’s gaze slowly travels back upwards to blue eyes on a man in his early thirties. “So, so sorry.”

She’s slightly chagrined at how attractive he is, with his dark hair and matching scruff, but that’s a matter for another time. That, along with the fact that he looks slightly too familiar despite the fact she’s certain she’s never seen him before. _Seriously,_ a matter for another time.

Emma looks around the street once she’s fully upright, searching for her target.

The target that evidently took the perfect opportunity to escape. She groans. Emma can’t chase after him, not now. He’ll want to come back for his car, but that didn’t mean he would anytime soon considering New York is nothing but an endless supply of taxis.

Emma was shit out of luck for the night.

“Partly my fault,” Emma acknowledges grumpily, gesturing to her shoes. “These make it too easy for a girl to tumble.”

“Hardly your fault, at all,” he insists, and _God,_ where _does_ she know him from?  “I’m the buggering idiot who wasn’t looking where he was going.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” she does her best to shrug even though internally she’s tempted to strangle the guy for getting between her and her next paycheck. “I’ll get him next time.”

“That must have been quite the awful date,” the man observes, apparently in no rush to get back to what he was doing.

“Not really a date.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’ve had worse.”

“Not really a date?” he repeats in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I was trying to catch the guy and make him show up for his court date,” she explains briefly, pointing in the direction he fled from. “As you can tell, he wasn’t exactly itching to go.”

“You’re a bailbondsperson?” the man deduces and she has to say it’s a little refreshing to not have to correct someone when they’re talking about her chosen profession.

“You got it on the first try,” Emma teases. “The ‘person’ and everything.”

If she didn’t know any better she’d think the guy was blushing.

“I’d better go try to find this guy, which is going to be impossible but -” She winces, then gives him a half smile. “Thanks for not letting me fall on my ass, I guess.”

“Anytime.” He laughs, eyes meeting hers.

Emma still _feels_ like she’s met him before.

The way he looks at her, though, makes her think he knows the feeling.

It’s a big city, so it’s entirely possible she’s seen him in passing before. It’s best for her to forget about. She brushes it off, walking in the direction she last saw her perp going in.

“Wait,” the stranger calls after her and she pivots back around to face him. “I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she provides in turn, against her best judgement.

“If you ever find yourself wanting to go to dinner with someone who you’re not trying to drag to their next court date…” he trails off, in an adorably awkward sort of way. “Consider it my making it up to you for robbing you of the opportunity to catch the...”

“Some real estate agent who is into money laundering,” she finishes the thought.

“Right.” He nods, scrawling his number on the back of a paper he’s seemed to find in his wallet. He hands it to her, “You don’t have to, of course, but I thought..”

“I’ll think about it.”

Emma probably won’t. It’s nothing against him, really, she’s just got too much on her plate to worry about dating (is her excuse) and her failed relationships are hardly encouragement to continue trying to date (is her real reason).

He gives her one last shy grin before walking away.

* * *

 

 

“Did you catch the guy?” Henry asks when she walks into their apartment, deeply engrossed in a video game when she gets home.

She picks up the other controller. “Nope.”

“No?” Henry repeats in surprise, pausing his video game. “You always catch the guy.”

“Not this time.” She shrugs. “Some guy just collided into me when I was right on his heels.”

Henry’s face scrunches up dubiously. “ _Some guy?_ ”

“Yeah,” Emma states as if it doesn’t matter either way who it was. “just wasn’t looking where he was going, I guess.”

“You said ‘some guy’ really weird,” Henry observes. “Like, all high pitched and weird. Do you _like_ Some Guy?”

“I didn’t say it like _anything_.”

“Sean’s mom always says when a girl says someone’s name like that they like them,” Henry shares, as if he’s imparting sage wisdom instead of critiquing his mother’s romantic life.

“I didn’t even say his name,” Emma insists with a frown, “I talked to the guy for five minutes.”

“Aha!” Henry exclaims. “You talked to him. I thought you just said you ran into him.”

She quickly defends herself. “I ran into him then he apologized.”

“For five minutes?” Henry asks.

“Kid,” Emma groans. “Really?”

“I bet he gave you his phone number.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not taking dating advice from my 13 year old.”

“Alright,” Henry says with a shrug, pressing play on his video game again. “Just know, you know, if you did like someone that would be okay.”

Her kid is going to give her premature grey hairs, she swears.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma calls him in what she’ll call a moment of weakness the next day. At this rate, she’s doing it out of sheer curiosity. She can’t shake the feeling that she knows this guy from somewhere. The sooner Emma can put that feeling to rest, the better.

Killian picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?” he answers.

Emma promises herself she’s going to hang up if he doesn’t remember who she is. “Hi, it’s um...Emma.”

“Emma!” he exclaims recognizing her name immediately. “I must confess, I was worried you wouldn’t call…”

“I just... called to let you know that…” She cringes at herself, at how awkward she’s making this. Fuck it, she’ll do it. “I’m free on Saturday.”

She can hear him nearly drop his phone. “Killian?”

“Right,” he replies. “Sorry about that, just lost connection for a bit. As it happens, I’m free Saturday too.”

“I’ll text you my address,” Emma says simply before she hangs up.

She stares at her phone for a minute later, glaring at it as if it’s wounded her. Emma wonders what she has just done.

* * *

 

“Is it Some Guy?” Henry asks Saturday night when he sees his mother in a pastel pink dress with her hair up, pacing back and forth in front of the door.

“What makes you think that?” she asks defensively, her back straightening up and her hand on her hip.

Henry points to the door she’s pacing in front of. “You don’t have the perps pick you up at the door.”

Emma gapes for a moment, shaking her head. “You’re too smart for your own good, kiddo.”

“It’s genetic.” Henry grins. “Plus, you’re nervous. You’d only be nervous if it were a real date.”

Emma is about to reply when she hears a knock at the door.

“That’s him,” Henry observes. “You better get the door.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, pausing a moment before opening the door. “Are you sure you’re ok-”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Open the door.”

She opens it, still hesitant.

Killian’s eyes light up the second he sees her, standing in front of her in a button up and a waistcoat. “You look stunning, Swan.”

Emma smiles back, detecting that he’s being entirely genuine. “You don’t clean up so bad yourself.”

He pulls out a single red rose from behind his back, at that. She has to smile as she takes it from him.

“It’s quite a bit cliche, I’m afraid,” he mutters, scratching the back of his ear in what she’s quickly recognizing as a nervous habit.

Emma shakes her head, still grinning. It’s cute, really, how easily he gets embarrassed. “You really went all out. Let me put this in water real quick..”

“Oh, hello,” Killian greets just as she’s starting to turn around. Henry is still standing a few feet behind her, hands in his pockets.

Emma freezes momentarily, before quickly saying, “This is my son, Henry. Killian, Henry. Henry, Killian.”

This is the part where he’s going to run. Most men don’t want to be tied down with a kid that isn’t theirs, anyway.

Killian, though, takes it completely in stride. He shakes her son’s hand without so much as a pause. “Pleasure to meet you, lad,”

“You too,” Henry replies breezily. “But if you hurt my mom…”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Emma interjects, rose in water and itching to get out the door before Henry launches into what she’s sure is going to be a profound speech.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, lad,” Killian replies to Henry’s unfinished threat with a grin, following Emma out the door.

It could have gone a lot worse, she thinks.

“How old is he?” Killian asks as they make their way down the stairs from her apartment. “Your boy, I mean.”

“Thirteen,” Emma answers briskly, waiting for the inevitable comment he’s going to make about her having a kid so young. She has heard it a hundred times before and wouldn’t be shocked to hear it again.

He doesn’t. She feels slightly less stupid for going to dinner with a guy she had only had a five minute conversation before on a feeling as stupid and vague as _‘I’ve met them before, somewhere'._

* * *

 

They go to a nice Italian place, one she’s only been to a handful of times before.

“So, Killian,” she drawls, trying her best to start conversation so at least she can try to prod at why he seems familiar. “Why did you decide to ask out a random bailbondsperson you ran into in the middle of the street?”

He pauses for a moment.

“Partly because you’re absolutely beautiful and partly because I can’t…” he shakes his head, snorting derisively at himself. “It’s ridiculous, honestly,”

“Tell me,” she presses gently.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” he finally reveals. “I know it’s bloody stupid, but..”

Emma just blinks for a moment. “No, it’s...I know exactly how you feel.”

What started out as a means to sate her curiosity actually turns into a pretty decent date. She asks about his work (ship maintenance, sometimes tours) and he asks about hers (she used to use zipties to take guys in - she didn’t really know where to get handcuffs from places that weren’t a sex shop and they overcharged - until a guy gnawed them off with his teeth). They talk about a lot of different topics and she almost hates how much she finds herself genuinely liking the guy.

It was a decent first date.

He walks her to her door, insisting on being a gentleman. Those are his words, not hers. He’d even given her his jacket - simple, cotton - when the chill of the night had her shuddering on their walk back to the car.

“I had a good time,” Emma says with a soft smile once they’ve paused in front of her apartment. She means it.

He looks elated by her admission, grinning widely. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I, well, I obviously had a good time too. A great time, in fact. Fantastic. You’re fantastic, I mean,” he stutters and she can’t help but find it endearing. “Apologies, I just,”

Emma kisses him, cutting off his nervous chatter with a tug at his lapel.

It’s soft and tender, the kiss. He wraps his arms around her waist and she leans even further into it. Killian may not be the smoothest talker, but he is a hell of a kisser.

It’s one of the best first dates (the best first date, period) that she’s had in a while.

“Do you like sailing?” he murmurs, “Because I think I’d really, really like to see you again.”

Emma thinks about it for a moment. “I could.”

He invites her out for a private tour the next week. She accepts, not realizing she hadn’t even given him his jacket back until ten minutes after she’s already inside.

* * *

 

 

About ten months later, she’s surprised at how well things are going between them. They work, the two of them. Killian gets when he’s pushing too far about her past (through the tears one night, she tells him about Neal and how she almost gave Henry up but just couldn’t) and she does the same for him (he loved a woman named Milah and she died in his arms from a stab wound from her insane ex-husband - he moved to New York to start over around the same time she did).

She tells him she loves him around three months after they’ve started dating. He’d gotten into a car accident, a bad one, and she sat shaking in the waiting room waiting for the doctors to let her in. When they did and she got a glimpse of his unconscious, bruised, and bloody body on the bed she realized just how much she couldn’t lose him. When he woke up a few hours later, Emma still holding vigil at his bedside, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I love you,” were the first words out of her mouth when he opened his eyes. Emma knew she’d inevitably chicken out if she didn’t say it right then and there.

He didn’t even ask where he was or what happened first, just muttered it right back. He tells her later that he was just waiting for her to say it, knowing her proclivity for running away when she feels like things are getting too much.

They work together like that.

Henry adores Killian, who takes him out sailing and helps him with his homework and gives him advice on how to approach the cute girl in his class. Killian fiercely loves Henry as if he were his own. Her usually level-headed and shy boyfriend even nearly went ballistic when some seedy character in Central Park stared at Henry for too long. Killian always picks Henry up from school when Emma is saddled with work and always brings books from his way back home from working at the docks that he thinks Henry would like. He assumes his role as a father figure to Henry easily and naturally.

Emma is almost grateful for that more than anything. She’s always seen Henry as almost an extension of herself, one that anyone who loved her would have to love to.

He even moved in a few months ago, by her insistence that he was always at her apartment anyway so it just made sense. Emma was even surprised with herself at that one, feeling a lump in her throat build more and more as he moved his belongings into her apartment that says _this is too much_ and that _she isn’t built for this_. It dissipates when they’re tangled up in each other that night and she just feels so content. She’s reminded of the fact that it could be, will be like this every night.

They’re both home one day when Henry is practically bouncing off the walls as he packs his overnight bag, running around the apartment in a frenzy.

“He must be really excited for that sleepover.” Emma frowns, sitting on the couch with her latest bunch of research (this guy is going to be an easy catch, judging by his constant need to post his location with every status update) on the computer on her lap. Her frown deepens when her boyfriend does the ear scratching thing instead of responding. “You know anything about that?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he replies carefully, sipping his mug.

What a liar. She squints, but decides to let it go. Killian goes to take Henry to his friend’s house and she can hear how much the keys in Killian’s hand are jingling more than they should. Emma thinks he’ll come around to tell her about it eventually and gets back to tracking down her next bail skipper. She gives up about 5 minutes later, setting her laptop aside. Emma has another mystery she’s more interested in solving.

Killian comes back about 15 minutes later and he’s even more twitchy than before. Emma doesn’t know if she can take not knowing anymore.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Emma asks with a cock of her head, eyes sparkling.

Killian stills, painting on his best confused face. “I have no idea what you mean, love.”

Emma sends him a glare that protests his statement. He leans down to kiss her in an effort to get the scowl off of her face, still standing while she’s sitting.

Fine, she can work with that. She kisses him back, fingers entangled in his hair and  teeth dragging over his bottom lip. He groans and she can’t help but grin. “Am I going to have to torture it out of you?”

“Torture it out out of me?” Killian parrots, a smirk falling on his lips. He moves to sit beside her, lips only leaving hers to get words out of his mouth,  “I’d love to see that.”

She responds by moving on top of his lap and placing kisses down the column of his throat. He groans, and she thinks to herself it’s so easy to get information out of him like this, really. As a matter of fact, he’s already…

Oh.

“Uh...Killian?” Emma comments. “I’m feeling a bulge in a place I ordinarily wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean, ordinaril-” He stops abruptly, then curses. He lets his hand cover his pocket. “You know, I had this planned to be a lot more romantic.”

She scrunches her face in confusion. “Killian?”

“Emma, I know…” Killian begins, twining her fingers into his. “I know we’ve only known each other for ten months.”

Emma doesn’t even know what to say.

“But I think you and I understand each other. We make each other better, you know. I’m less of a sodding, awkward arse around you and you’re - well, you’re brilliant either way - but Henry says you seem happier lately. That’s all I ever want to do, Emma, is make you happy. You’ve made me happy every single day. I’d go to the end of the world for you, love.”

She doesn’t want to tell him no. She really, really doesn’t want to tell him no. Emma can feel the tears welling up in her eyes despite her best efforts. “Killian…”

“Wait,” he says, and she notices his eyes are the slightly watery too. “Let me do this the right way, the proper way.”

She carefully slides off of his lap.

“I’m blissful just being with you,” he starts, sinking down to one knee in front of her like she knew he was going to do. He pulls out the box from the front of his pocket, carefully as if he’s scared he’ll break what’s inside of it. “And I understand if you don’t want this. I just needed to ask you… Emma, will you do me the honor of letting me become your husband?”

Emma doesn’t want to say no, so she doesn’t. She never thought she’d see herself saying these words in response to a proposal, but she says them. “Yes.”

Killian’s jaw drops, as if he was sure she’d say no. Hell, she’d be sure she would say no to getting married in a 10 month relationship too, but here she is. Emma doesn’t regret her answer either.

“I love you so much,” he mutters, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto her finger before moving to embrace her.

It’s a perfect fit, the little emerald ring. Killian tells her later that Henry helped him pick it out and she loves him all the more for it.

“I love you too,” she tells him, waiting for the suffocating feeling that comes whenever things get to be too much to make an appearance.

It doesn’t.

“I also love that you did this instead of…”

“Proposing at a restaurant by hiding the ring in dessert?”

She nods, “Exactly.”

“You would’ve hated a public proposal,” he chuckles into her hair, “that would be a guaranteed failure right there.”

She nods. “Also, kind of a dick move. I’d have all sorts of strangers judging me if I said no.”

“That too,” he hums. “Though I fear my route was hardly romantic, given you almost mistook the box for-”

Emma has to laugh, “I wouldn’t change anything about it, Killian. Not even that.”

“Really?” he asks, moving back on his knees in front of her to face her. His eyes search hers for any hint of hesitation.

He doesn’t find any.

“Really,” she affirms, resting her forehead on his.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh,” Emma groans at the blaring of their alarm clock a few days later. At 8:15 on the dot, the thing is as loud as their building’s fire alarm. Or, at least, it feels that loud.

Emma presses the snooze button once, leaning back to burrow back into Killian again. She briefly thanks God that he’s asleep; he is unbearable when it comes to being a morning person. Once he’s up, she has no chance of getting those precious extra minutes.

He twitches and she just sighs. So much for him being asleep.

“Get up, love,” he whispers into her ear, gently detangling himself from her.

Emma just whines, tugging him back down to her. She’s easy with the affection when she’s sleepy. “Five more minutes,”

“You sound like Henry,” he chuckles into her shoulder.  

“Needing those five extra minutes is a Swan trait, I’ll have you know,” Emma mutters, eyes slipping back shut. “You should get used to that, if you want to become Killian Swan anytime soon.”

“Killian Swan, eh?” he echoes and she opens her eyes just a hair to see him grinning down at her. She traces his lips with her thumb. “I could get used to hearing that.”

“Mhm,” Emma tells him with an exaggerated yawn, “You can hear it more if you let me sleep.”

Killian just sighs in exasperation before lifting her up in one swift movement, carrying her bridal style.

“Hey!” Emma exclaims, clinging to his bare shoulders as if she’s afraid he’ll drop her. She takes a moment to be thankful she’s wearing pajamas and he’s at least wearing bottoms, lest they scar her son for life. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my practice in for the honeymoon, of course,” he replies, depositing her on a seat at the table.

She really wants to punch him, sometimes.

Killian gets Henry out of bed a few minutes later while her son waxes poetic about the injustices of school interfering with his sleeping schedule.

“See?” Emma tells Killian as if her son is spouting the most profound philosophy. “It’s genetic.”

“Hopefully not contagious, though,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead on his way to the fridge.

 

* * *

 

They’re just setting breakfast on the table when they hear a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Emma says, wondering who the hell would be making house calls right now. Maybe it's the cranky old lady in 314 who keeps on insisting they’re stealing her mail?

She opens the door to, not 314, but a blonde man and a heavily pregnant woman who both look like they’re about to burst into tears at the sight of her.

“Emma,” they both say her name as a sigh of relief, almost in synchronization.

She furrows her eyebrows, looking and back and forth between them in hopes of recognizing them just a little bit. There is almost a niggling at the back of her mind, the same kind she had when she first met Killian, but she honestly can’t remember who they are for the life of her.

“Can I help you?”

The woman is the first to speak. “Emma, we know you can’t remember but we’re your pare-”

“David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard,” the man finishes in the same breath, looking to the woman as if she’s just broken script.

Her parents? Seriously? _They’re her age._

Emma looks at them in disbelief, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to-”

Killian must have heard her raising her voice from the kitchen, if his presence behind her is any indication. He places his hand on her back, peering over her head at the couple at the door, “Everything alright, love?”

They look as if they’re about to faint by the sight of him.

“Hook?” the man - David - asks, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hook?” Emma repeats, face scrunching in confusion. By the expression on Killian’s face, he’s not having any more luck figuring it out. “You mean my _fiance_?”

The guy is about to turn several different shades of purple if he doesn’t start breathing soon. The woman, Mary Margaret, looks as if she’s in a similar position. Her jaw is agape and her eyes keep flitting between the two of them as if she just can’t believe it.

Killian leans to speak into her ear, becoming more and more befuddled by the second. “Do you know these people?”

“Not at all.” She shakes her head.

David seems to have regained his ability to speak at that. “You don’t remember either, Hook? How did you two even meet, then?”

Emma and Killian share a look that says _‘honestly, who are these batshit insane people?’_ She answers with, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Mary Margaret asks them a question just as Emma has the door closed 90% of the way. “Does Henry remember? He did with the old curse…”

Emma and Killian both stiffen at the name, looking back at the table to where Henry is sitting in complete confusion.

“You stay the hell away from him,” Emma spits out, only opening the door enough to make her point clear. She won’t amuse these people long enough for them to even think of coming near her son.

“If you touch a hair on his head…” Killian says through gritted teeth at nearly the same time.

The couple look as if they’re about to protest, but they don’t get the opportunity to before the door is slammed in their faces.

“Who was that?” Henry asks as soon as they walk back into the room. They both share nervous looks, unsure of what to tell him.

“They were looking for someone else, that’s all,” Emma answers, feeling guilty about lying to her son even if it’s potentially for his own good.

Henry challenges, “Then why did I hear yelling?”

Killian follows her lead, as he always does. “They felt certain that this was the right address, but we were able to redirect them back to who they were looking for.”

Henry looks dissatisfied by the answer, but accepts it nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

The couple meet them again, this time when they go out to dinner the next day. Killian excuses himself to go to the bathroom and Emma is busy checking her phone for the latest updates on Adrian the dog napper. They seemingly pop out of nowhere in his seat when she looks up.

“You people!” Emma exclaims, nearly dropping her phone in her haste to get her hand on the nearest steak knife.

“Emma, we swear we’re not trying to hurt you,” the man says, putting his hand up in a pacifying gesture.

Emma only tightens her grip on the knife at her side. She really doesn’t want to stab a pregnant woman and her husband, but goddammit if they keep on stalking her she may not have a choice.

The woman takes a deep breath, then deposits a paper bag on the table. “Emma, please believe us. Look at this if you need to.”

“What is this? Anthrax?” She narrows her eyes, reluctantly taking the bag from her and peering into the contents. All it looks to be is a developed series of photos.

“Just look, Emma. Please. My phone number is on the back of the picture of the two of us. Take all the time you need to call it,” the man, David, insists with one final plea before the two of them walk out of there as quickly as they came in.

She grimaces. Emma flips through the pictures and all show her and Henry in a town called Storybrooke (she’s never even heard of it) or one of them with the couple. There’s one of her and the woman smiling from what looks like the counter of a diner. She’s wearing a grey sweater she’s never so much as seen before. There’s another one of Henry, looking younger than he is now, playing with wooden swords with the man. Photos illustrate her and her son’s lives around this town with these people she’s never even met before.

Sure enough, on the back of a picture of her and the man in front of what looks to be a Sheriff's station, a phone number with a 207 area code is scrawled.

Killian walks back to the table moments later to find her looking as she’s seen a ghost, still holding the pictures in her hands.

He narrows his eyes, “What happened, love?”

 

* * *

 

Emma calls them the next day, after talking it through with Killian. Henry is safely over at a friend’s house and, at the very least, they can figure out what it is exactly these people want. She’s looked over these pictures so many times, though, and they don’t even look as if they’d been doctored. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

She dials them on speakerphone, with Killian rubbing patterns on her back as she does so.

“Emma,” the man exclaims on the other end of the line, “we were afraid you wouldn’t call.”

“What do you want?” is all she grits out, not in the mood to fan this guy’s fantasies.

“We know you can’t remember anything, but think about it. Please, Emma. Take your...” David makes the words sound as if he’s swallowed something particularly unpleasant. “...fiance, for example.”

“What about me, mate?” Killian nearly growls into the phone.

“I know when Mary Margaret and I were cursed, we couldn’t shake the feeling that we had met each other somehow before. We couldn’t put our fingers on it, then, but we felt like we knew each other. Have either of you had that feeling before?”

Both of them visibly pale and Killian’s hand stills on her spine.

Emma bites her lip. “Say we believe you. Then what?”

David hesitates. “Can we meet?”

Emma grimaces, unable to think of a better solution if these people will supposedly prove themselves to them. “You already know where we live.”

She hangs up, wordlessly sinking back into Killian. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her closer to him and threads his fingers through hers.

* * *

 

They knock on her door less than 20 minutes later.

Thankfully, this time the couple is subdued as they enter their apartment. The woman has one hand on her stomach and the man has one hand at her waist. Killian gestures for the couple to sit across from them on the opposite couch. They do. A beat passes of complete silence.

“So, you saw the pictures…” Mary Margaret is the first to speak, trailing off in hopes that just that phrase would trigger something in her supposed daughter.

Emma frowns. “They could be photoshopped.”

David sighs. “For it to be photoshopped you have to have some original images to work with, don’t you? Can you think of any pictures you’ve taken remotely like this?”

She’s fairly stumped.

“Say you’re telling the truth,” Emma manages to get out. “Say you are my parents despite it being - literally - impossible.”

All the couple does is stare back at her with the sort of hopefulness that makes her ache.

“Why would I want to leave my life here? I have a job, my son, a guy that I love,” Emma tells them, almost pleading with them. Killian tightens his grip on her hand, absentmindedly thumbing almost reverently over the ring on her finger as he does so. The couple notices, and their stare seems almost fixated on the shine of the small emerald engagement ring.

“You can still have all of those things back home,”  Mary Margaret, tells her softly. “Granted, some of your relationships might be more complicated,”

“Is now really the time, Snow?” the man asks his partner, who only gives him a half-shrug.

“A relationship may be more complicated, but as much as I…”

David interrupts her as if she’s about to say something that will scare her away even further, “As much as we’ve had our doubts about Hook, the fact that he was able to find you again without even realizing it…”

Mary Margaret huffs, “Honestly, David, that was almost verbatim what I was going to say. He did save your life, too.”

The more they talk, the more confused Emma gets. “Right, so there’s another hole in your story. I just met Killian this year, how did we know each other before?”

David shrugs, “We think he may have been able to cross the town line when the curse was cast, which doesn’t make much sense either but would explain his apparent amnesia...”

Killian shakes his head in exasperation. “None of this makes any sense.”

“It will if you drink this,” Mary Margaret says finally, lifting two vials of purple liquid up to the light.

Emma takes one look at them and scoffs, “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Drink something that crazy people give to me.”

David rubs his forehead in frustration. “You’ll be even more furious if you don’t take the chance that we’re right and you rob yourself of an opportunity to find out the truth about yourself, about who you are.”

Emma doesn’t know what to do. She looks over to Killian, trying to get an idea of his train of thought. He seems to be eyeing the vials contemplatively.

Killian exhales a few seconds later, “I think they may have a point, love.”

Emma takes a few deep breaths herself, worrying her lip with her teeth. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mary Margaret repeats optimistically. David looks relieved.

“Together?” Emma asks, nudging the man beside her. If she’s doing this, if she takes this crazy, insane leap of faith, Killian needs to be right there with her.

“Together,” Killian affirms, not letting go of her hand.

“Alright, then,” David announces, taking the vials from his wife and handing them both one. Killian has to pull his hand from hers in order to take it, but he does so reluctantly.

Mary Margaret is practically bouncing.

“On three?” Emma offers, eyeing the vial with suspicion.

Killian nods, eyes refusing to leave hers. “On three.”

It all comes back in a flash: Henry knocking on her door on her 28th birthday, coming to Storybrooke, breaking the curse, climbing a beanstalk, going to Neverland, and leaving them all behind at the town line. Emma squeezes her eyes shut, opening them when she finally doesn’t feel like her eyes are burning due to light exposure.

“Mom, Dad,” she manages to choke out, and the expression on their faces is worth it. It’s worth taking the potion, worth spending a few days in fear of stalkers, _worth all of it_.

Then, there’s the other thing.

Her warm, plaid-wearing, shy boyfriend-turned-fiance is Captain Hook. Captain Hook, the man whose every other word is some sort of innuendo and wears more leather than your average rock band member is her fiance.

“Oh,” is all she says when she turns around to face him. It’s not an accusing _“oh”_ , not really. Just the sort of exhale that someone makes when they figure out the thought that’s niggling at the back of their head, on the tip of their tongue, that they have been having the hardest time identifying. “Hook.”

Hook, Killian, whoever he is looks a mixture of anxious and hopeful. The longer she sits there without speaking, the more his expression turns more anxious. “Aye.”

Emma turns to face her parents again, who are both looking at her with all the love they can muster. She immediately stands to embrace them with a bit of a sniffle. “God, I thought I was never going to see you guys again when the curse hit.”

“It was hell without you,” David tells her matter-of-factly, and she can tell he’s choked up too.

“We missed you so much,” Mary Margaret adds. Emma finally processes the fact that she’s clearly, hugely pregnant as well. She has a little brother or sister in addition to her parents back. Emma tightens her grip on the both of them.

They stand like that for a moment before Emma realizes something. “What about Henry?”

Her parents detangle themselves from her. Mary Margaret pulls out another vial from her coat. “You’re lucky we had three doses, you know. We weren’t expecting a third person.”

Killian frowns, mutely from his position on the couch. Their couch, even. They both picked it out when Henry left a massive stain on the old one.

This is making her head hurt. She doesn’t even know what to say anymore. Emma takes the vial mutely, barely processing what it means.

David pipes up, “You might want to pack, though, because we have more news for you once we get to Storybrooke.”

“That is, if you want to go back,” Mary Margaret quickly adds, “you don’t have to, but…”

“Storybrooke is back?” Killian asks and it’s the only thing he’s said besides the one word response he’d given Emma earlier.

“Yeah, it’s a long story…” David explains with a slight cringe.

“I’m coming back,” she tells them, the answer automatically falling out of her lips. “Let me guess, another psychopath on the loose in Storybrooke?”

“You’re a good guesser,” David replies. Mary Margaret looking apologetic beside him.

“So...how should we get him to take the potion?” Emma asks, redirecting the conversation back to Henry and thumbing the vial in her hands. All of the details of this are absolutely killing her brain.

“Slip it into his drink?” David proposes weakly.

Emma grimaces. “You want me to drug my son?”

“It’s not really drugging...” Mary Margaret points out.

Emma resists the urge to facepalm, “Slipping something into his drink without him knowing? That sounds kind of like drugging.”

“It’s so he gets his memories back.” Mary Margaret shrugs. “Unless you can get him to drink the weird bottle of purple stuff…”

Emma does audibly groan at this. She’s right, it was enough of a process to convince her and Killian to drink it. It would have to do, but there was still one more big thing to resolve: the man sitting down feet from her and looking incredibly lost in thought.

Hook. Her fiance slash reluctant ally.

“We’ll leave you guys time alone…” Mary Margaret tells them softly. There’s a little too much understanding there.

David adds, “Henry is at a friend’s house, right? Call us when he gets back and we’ll introduce ourselves.”

Emma nods, embraces them one more time, and watches them walk out the door. That leaves her and Killian alone for the first time since they’ve gotten their memories back.

* * *

 

They don’t talk as they pack. Neither of them really know what to say. There is just the sound of boxes moving and the rip of packing tape between them.

She fiddles with the ring on her finger absentmindedly, worrying it up and down her knuckle. Emma can feel his gaze on her and she turns around to see his eyes on the ring for one second before flitting back to the boxes in front of him.

“You can say something, you know,” she says finally, still facing him. As much as she hates the idea of discussing this right now, of facing that the best relationship of her life could end right here (if it hasn’t already), but the silence is infinitely worse.

Killian meets her eyes again hesitantly. “I’m afraid I don’t know quite what to say, love.”

Emma nearly flinches at the pet name (does he even mean it, now?) and hopes he doesn’t notice.

He does. “I understand if...you would like things to go back to where they were between us before the curse.”

“Do you?” she asks instead. He stares at his shoes.

Emma doesn’t know how to go from lovers to strangers that quickly.

“Those months with you and Henry were some of the happiest months in my life,” he answers instead, his voice thicker than she’s used to hearing it.

Her chest feels unbearably tight. “Is that a no?”

“I wouldn’t change anything about the time we had together.” It’s a sad exhale of giving up, not a plea for a continuation.

Emma tries her best to hold back the tears she can feel trying to escape. This is the end of whatever it is or was between them and she just has to accept it for what it is. She can’t expect Hook to love her as much as Killian did.

All she can say is, “Neither would I.”

He looks just as heartbroken as she feels, his hand clenching and unclenching sporadically as if he’s resisting the temptation to reach for her. They’ve had fights before, but they’ve always made up with an embrace and a tumble back to bed. Now they’re too afraid to touch each other.

If this is goodbye, she guesses there’s one more thing she has to do. Emma slides the band off of her ring finger as slowly as possible, as if elongating the process would make it easier. It doesn’t. All he does is stand shock still as she walks over to take his hand in hers (likely for the last time) and puts the ring back in his hand. A pirate always keeps a souvenir of his conquests, after all.

“Emma, please, don’t…” he rasps, not letting go of her hand. “If you don’t want me, you don’t have to wear it, but at least keep it as a...just keep it, please.”

“If I don’t want you?” she repeats in disbelief. “You’re the one who won’t answer me when I ask if you want things to go back to how they were.”

“You have no idea how much I want to be with you, Swan,” he tells her, eyes clenching shut. “How much I want what we’ve had forever. I couldn’t blame you in the slightest if you didn’t want that after finding out who I really am.”

“Do you still…” She hesitates. “Do you still feel the same way?”

“Do still I love you?” Hook translates. “Bloody hell Swan…”

Okay, maybe she doesn’t need to hear this.

“Yes, I love you. I’ve loved you since you first kissed me in Neverland.”

Her breath catches in her throat and all she can think of to say is, “That long, huh?”

Killian just gives her a small smile, edging closer to her. “I didn’t think my advances were very subtle, love.”

“They weren’t, but I didn’t realize…” she trails off.

Killian walks closer to her still, until he’s sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear, “I’ve loved you since you kissed me in Neverland, I’ve loved you since I accidentally stopped you from catching some rogue real estate agent, and I loved you all the same ever since.”

She answers him in a near whisper of, _“Then you’re still you”_ , before kissing him.

It’s a lot like their first kiss. Not their kiss in Neverland, as the Savior and Captain Hook, but the one at her door as Emma and Killian. It’s soft and timid as if they’re afraid of scaring the other off. It deepens and his hand slides up her body into her hair as the fear slowly dissipates.

They break apart, drinking in the air between them and refusing to let each other go.

“That was…” Killian rasps, eyes still shut.

Emma grins, pressing her forehead further into his. “Not a one time thing.”

“Thank the gods,” he replies in an exaggerated sigh.

She puts the ring back where it belongs: on her hand.

* * *

 

Is Emma a bad person for this? Drugging her own son seems pretty extreme, but she finds herself agreeing with her parents more and more about this. He needs to remember. It wouldn’t hurt him, just give him sort of a wake up call.

Emma contemplates this, grimacing at the purple liquid. Killian comes back into the kitchen, moving the last of the boxes (it’s just clothes and other necessities, really; maybe she can rent a U-Haul and get the rest when they have more time,) into the room. He looks at the bottle in her hand and frowns.

She sees the same anxiety in his eyes she saw earlier, except this time it’s for Henry instead of her.

Emma leans against the counter, giving him a matter-of-fact look, “You’re worried about more than just my feelings not being the same, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t blame the boy for not wanting to be around me after finding out…”

“Killian,” she pleads, leaning in to grab his hand. “The kid adores you.”

“The other me,” he corrects. “Not the me that’s been a pirate for centuries.”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “And what about that would be remotely unappealing to a thirteen year old?”

Killian sighs in exasperation. “He liked the man who brought ice cream home for him, not the one who attempted to murder his grandfather more than once.”

“What? You can’t be both?” Emma asks, cocking her head to the side as her hand wraps around to his side and she tugs him to her. “C’mon, I’ve accepted you as both. We’ll call it a Swan trait.”

Killian gives her a sad laugh in response, resting his hand to frame the side of her face. “You know, that feels like a lifetime ago. It was just days, but it feels…”

“...like forever ago,” Emma finishes for him, grimly. “Yeah, I know.”

They stay like that, for a minute, standing still against each other in a kitchen that doesn’t feel like it was ever theirs despite feeling as if it always was.

 

* * *

 

Henry takes it like a champ, which of course he does. He accepts the year as almost a normal occurrence in his life, which both relieves and worries Emma. What did it even say about her kid’s life that being cursed into a different set of memories for the year was par for the course? After drinking the potion mixed in with his hot cocoa, he’d just made a face and asked if Grandma and Grandpa broke the curse.

When Emma asked how he even knew it was them, he’d just gestured to the door they knocked on days ago. He, apparently, saw the strangers on the other side of the door despite Emma and Killian’s best efforts to shield him from them.

The kid is too smart for his own good, as she tells him when she catches him in a fierce hug. Henry quickly replies that it’s genetic and all she can do is laugh that at least some things haven’t changed.

Henry moves on to hug the pirate to her left and Killian looks exceptionally relieved by the fact her son doesn’t seem to hate him after finding out that he’s been sharing a living space with a cursed Captain Hook. Hook hugs him back just as fiercely as Emma did.

Henry is the one who calls her parents a few minutes later and both of them practically sob over the phone with relief.

Her parents come over again from the hotel they apparently booked a few blocks away and David can’t help but envelope his grandson in a bear hug the second he sees him. Mary Margaret keeps on repeating how big he’s gotten in just one year while Henry peppers them both with questions about his future aunt or uncle and what they’ve been up to for the year they spent in the Enchanted Forest.

Her parents, Henry, and Killian all go to stick what’s packed up from their apartment into the back of David’s pickup truck. Emma sticks around for a few minutes longer, quickly explaining that there are a few things she’d wanted to do, first.

Say goodbye, for one.

This apartment was home. Emma lingers in the doorway, rubbing her hand up and down her arm as she leans against the door. She had a life with Henry here, one where she actually raised him instead of finding him eleven years later. Emma accepted Killian’s proposal in this apartment. She spent sleepy mornings in bed with breakfast and helped (okay, it was mainly Killian who helped) Henry with his homework here. They blew out birthday candles for Henry’s thirteenth birthday here and Emma celebrated her 29th with some of the people she loved most in her life in this apartment instead of alone with a cupcake picked up from the nearest bakery.

Emma had some of the best months of her life here and now she has to leave it all behind.

“Ready, love?” Killian asks on the other side of the door, announcing his return back with a rap of his knuckles on the wall. She turns around to face him and she can tell by his expression that he’s feeling nostalgic, too. “We just finished loading the rest of the boxes into Dave’s truck and your son is anxious to get going.”

She sighs, turning around again to face the apartment one last time. “Yeah. I’m just going to miss this place, is all.”

Killian wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing kisses to her neck. “As am I, love. It’s a good thing we can make new memories no matter where we are, hm?”

The thought is reassuring enough.

“I love you, you know,” she tells him, tugging at the lapel of his plaid button-up which she knows he’ll probably be stripping off and burning to ashes the second he gets the chance to. “Both yous, because, you know, they’re the same to me. At least, aside from some awkwardness and vastly different fashion sense.”

“I believe the cursed variation of myself had much less…” He searches for the appropriate word. “...baggage.”

“And the cursed me didn’t?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning against him. “I mean, a lot of that baggage was intact but I at least had my son…”

“You have him right now,” Killian reminds her, wrapping her up into his arms.

“I didn’t for all of his life. Plus, I just hate sharing,” she grumbles and he laughs.

Killian kisses the crown of her head before resting his head on top of it. “I don’t think the memories should be any less real because you were cursed, love. Your son still remembers them. You still remember them.”

“I like that idea,” she agrees, nuzzling further into him. “I do wonder something, though.”

“What?”

She tilts her head on his shoulder to look at him. “How is it that you not only ended up in New York, but ran into me two months after the curse at that?”

“I have no idea, but I suppose if something is meant to happen, it finds its way,” he tells her, after a pause. “I found my way to you all the same. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me either.”

**  
  
**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess in this version of events Zelena never interrupted Snowing's casting of the curse. Which means, I guess, they're still both operating with half a heart but with all their memories intact. I would've added this explanation in, but it honestly it would take forever to explain (to Killian and Emma who don't know wtf has been happening) and didn't feel that important so I was just like, eh, may as well just explain it in an endnote instead. I don't know how they got all the memory potion, maybe they robbed Gold? Maybe the author needed a convenient plot device? We just don't know!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this fic!


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